Yet the next afternoon The Invitation arrived. Lincoln—and the rest of the household—heard about it soon after, because Edith shrieked so loudly in her excitement she brought even the cook running from the kitchen to find out why.
Henriette was saying as Lincoln arrived on the scene there in the entry hall, “I don’t believe it!” Not once, but four times. Edith was still making sounds of excitement, just not as earsplitting as the original one. And two of the downstairs maids were trying their best to look over Henriette’s shoulder—the invitation was still held in her hand—to read what had caused such a commotion.
Lincoln suspected he wouldn’t get any immediate answers if he asked, so he took the paper from Henriette and read it himself, then raised a brow at her. “A ball? Am I to understand that you weren’t expecting this?”
“Not a ball, dear boy. The ball. The Moore annual ball is only one of the most exclusive balls of the season each year. I heard a number of ladies sighing over it the last few days, bemoaning the fact that they didn’t get invited.”
“So one of those visits you made yesterday paid off after all?”
Henriette shook her head. “This isn’t my doing.” And then she looked behind him to Eleanor, who had stopped midway down the stairs. “You arranged this, didn’t you? However did you manage it, m’dear?”
Eleanor might have tried to deny it, but her blush was a dead giveaway. She still tried to make light of it, saying, “Elizabeth Moore is an old school friend. As it happens, she invites me to her ball each year, but each year I decline, since I’m never in England when it’s given. I merely sent her off a note yesterday to let her know I was currently in London with my family.”
“It’s an open invitation,” Henriette said. “It includes your entire family.”
“Yes, she’s very conscientious that way, never misses little details that might cause her embarrassment later,” Eleanor explained.
“You’ve actually kept in touch with Lady Moore all these years?”
Eleanor nodded. “When you have a smoothly run household that doesn’t require much of your time, letter writing becomes a very pleasant pastime. I had a wide range of close acquaintances in England before I married, and I’ve kept in touch with many of them through the years. I’m sure you can say the same.”
“Certainly.” Henriette chuckled. “Though none of my friends hand out such coveted invitations.”
Eleanor blushed again, probably because of how hard Lincoln was staring at her. Once again she’d seen his need and taken it upon herself, without being asked, to fulfill it. Melissa would very likely be at that ball, and if she wasn’t, it was going to open the necessary doors for him to all the events she would be attending for the rest of the season.
He wasn’t going to thank his mother, though. Despite how this particular effort was going to help him, he would prefer she stop doing things expressly designed to gain his gratitude. Motherly assistance from her now only pointed out the absence of same for far too long. She could not make up for nineteen years of abandonment with a few paltry gestures. She was a fool to think that anything could make up for the brutal way she’d kicked him out of her life.
“This calls for a new gown, Edi, m’love—no expense spared!” Henriette exclaimed in her own excitement. “Actually, new gowns for all of us are in order for this, and luckily we’ve a week and a half to see to them. I hadn’t planned on attending any of the balls, when Linc is the only chaperon you need, but this one I wouldn’t dream of missing. Goodness, I almost feel eighteen again m’self!”
Ten
MELISSA’S disappointment was so strong after the second week rolled by and she’d still had no sight or word from Lincoln Burnett that she’d been ready to go home to nurse it. She couldn’t do that to Megan, however, who was going to so much trouble to make sure she had a good time. And, fortunately, Justin came home about then, and Justin had always been able to take her mind off any current distractions, good or bad.
She’d known the St. James heir all her life and became really close friends with him the year he spent the entire summer in the Highlands. He’d been eight, she seven, and they found they had everything in common—had been inseparable. He’d ended up with three younger sisters and a brother, but he was the closest thing Melissa had to a brother of her own, other than her youngest uncle.
She was surprised, actually, that they’d maintained that closeness, when they didn’t live near each other and didn’t even see each other every year. But maintain it they did, keeping in touch with letters—anywhere from a few to ten a month—conversations really, like whispering secrets through a fence, where you couldn’t actually see the person you were talking to but knew he or she was listening.
A few times there had been talk—albeit casually—from their parents that they made a splendid pair and might get married someday to each other. Both Melissa and Justin thought that was one of the funnier things they’d ever heard. It might be fine and dandy to marry your best friend, but not when you thought of that friend as a brother or sister as well.
She usually told Justin everything. Oddly, she didn’t tell him about Lincoln Burnett, probably because too much time had passed and she was sure now that she’d never see him again, so there was no point. Justin would have been sympathetic, but sympathy was one thing she didn’t need or want. Besides, she was afraid she’d start to cry if she mentioned how acute her disappointment was. She didn’t want to be that silly. She’d already been silly enough, to base all kinds of hopes and expectations on just one meeting with the man.
She resolved to put it behind her and keep more firmly in mind why she was there: to have some fun and maybe find a husband as well—in that order. Justin was going to help in that, the fun anyway, since he’d agreed to join the women on a few of the upcoming events.
She was grateful for that, knowing that he’d experienced the formal social whirl last year for the first time himself and didn’t really like it. He’d bemoaned that fact to her in his letters, since he had been looking forward to being included in the realm of adults, only to find that he much preferred just to chum about with his friends as he used to do when he was home from school.
Justin also had two men in mind for her to meet, whom he was certain she would like. Not that he was playing matchmaker. He simply didn’t think that these particular fellows much cared for the social scene either, so she wasn’t likely to meet them unless he arranged it.
He was mistaken about one of the men, however. Richard Sisley was the older brother of one of Justin’s school friends, and as the heir to the family title, he was being prodded by his family into finding a wife this season as well, so he was forced to make the rounds with all the other young hopefuls.
Richard explained this to her as they twirled about the dance floor that evening. It was the second ball she’d attended, more impressive than the first, with half again as many people present. And it turned out she’d already met Richard at a previous gathering, but just hadn’t remembered his name that night. She did remember that he’d made her laugh on their first meeting, which was a plus for him, considering that her dejection had been at its worst that week.
He was a very likable fellow, very good-looking as well. Not as handsome as Justin, but then it would be hard for any man to hold a candle to Justin St. James, whose parents were both exceptionally stunning in looks. Even Lincoln wasn’t that handsome….
She’d known that it was going to happen, the comparisons to Lincoln. She should have felt some attraction to Richard, if only a little, but no, nothing. Because of him.
Justin was going to be annoyed with her, she was sure, for not even giving Richard a chance. He really admired the man, had had nothing but wonderful things to say about him. And Richard liked her. He’d let her know in subtle ways even at their first meeting. But he’d have to be dense not to notice that she just wasn’t interested, and without any encouragement at all from her, he was already starting to look elsewhere before their d
ance even ended.
She was burning her own bridges and couldn’t seem to help it. Very well, so she wouldn’t find a husband here in London. Her parents had said that would be all right. Why were women expected to marry right out of the schoolroom anyway? Men weren’t and didn’t. They got to do as they liked for as long as they liked. Well, most of them did.
She could put her energies into something else besides a family, maybe draining the lake when she got home, to prove there was something unnatural on the bottom of it. She would become famous: Melissa MacGregor, discoverer of the first dragon known to mankind….
She saw him in passing. She’d been watching for black hair. She’d been watching for tall men. The combination of both drew her eyes like a magnet. She stumbled, trying to keep her eyes on him as she was twirled about in the waltz—impossible. And she was now on the other side of the floor.
She apologized to Richard, who’d managed to keep her from falling when she tripped over her own feet. They were coming around again to the point where she’d seen Lincoln on the edge of the crowd. He wasn’t there now. Had she imagined seeing him, just wishfulness on her part?
“Are you all right?” Richard inquired.
Did she look as dejected as she felt? “Aye—nae, actually. Would you mind taking me back tae the duchess? These new shoes have given me blisters, I’m thinking.”
That wasn’t the least bit true, but Richard nodded and escorted her to Justin—Megan was dancing at the moment with an old friend of the family. After politely mentioning her excuse for leaving the floor, he left them alone.
Justin, watching his friend go straight to another female for conversation, accused, “You don’t like him?”
“Dinna fash yourself. I canna concentrate on liking him or no’ when I’ve got another mon on m’mind.”
“What man?”
“That…one.”
He was there again, not ten feet away and staring at her as if he’d found something he’d lost. She probably looked the same to him, or worse. She knew she was blushing profusely, her pulse racing, her breath held in anticipation. If she fainted, she’d never forgive herself.
She couldn’t imagine why it had taken him so long to show up, but she was sure he’d tell her if he’d just come over to her. But he didn’t, and after a few more minutes passed, she began to think he wasn’t going to.
Eleven
THIS was not the country waif in frill-less garb Lincoln had carried in his memory since meeting her. He almost hadn’t recognized her, the difference was so dramatic. Her evening gown was stunning, pale blue satin with white beaded embroidery in floral designs trailing up the long skirt and across the pointed waist and square-cut bodice, and dotting the short puffed satin sleeves. The long evening gloves and shoes were in the same pale blue, her coiffure simple but elegant, without a single hair out of place.
The gown was stunning—she was stunning—and what had he expected, when she hobnobbed with dukes and duchesses? The wind-blown country lass he’d impulsively decided to marry was definitely not this young lady. And she was already attached. The man she was with was exceptionally handsome and held himself with a regal air. The way they addressed each other, though he couldn’t hear the actual words, suggested an intimacy beyond their just having met. She’d also been left with the fellow by her dancing partner, which implied she’d been collected from him, so he was her escort.
Well, her father had said she’d be coming home affianced, and apparently, she’d wasted no time at all in accomplishing that. Of course, the chap was too young for her. No, he wasn’t too young, he was probably her age, making Lincoln suddenly feel old.
Lincoln turned to leave. He missed seeing her stricken look as he did so.
But he got no more than a few feet when an arm came about his shoulders to detain him and an angry male voice whispered at his side, “I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but what you just did to Meli makes me want to rip your head off.”
“Excuse me?” Lincoln said coldly as he shrugged off the arm.
“The hell I will. Why’d you just cut her to the quick, eh? And if you tell me you’ve no interest in her, I’ll call you a bloody liar and blind to boot.”
Lincoln frowned. “You haven’t already staked a claim on her?”
“Gad, that’s rich.” The young man snorted. “And what if I had? That means you must bow out of the running? Damned if I’d give up so easily.”
“I wasn’t giving up, I was merely licking present wounds,” Lincoln said stiffly.
Justin grinned at that point. “Were you, now? Well, that’s different and acceptable, I suppose. Shall we start anew? I’m Justin St. James, quite possibly Meli’s best friend. That, by the by, is the only claim I have on the dear girl. I love her, true, but just like I do my own pesky sisters. Now, perhaps you’d like to meet her?”
“We’ve met,” Lincoln mumbled, rather embarrassed now over his mistaken conclusions.
“Then perhaps you’d like to dance with her where you can discuss…wounds in semiprivacy,” Justin said with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Though you’d best be quick about asking, before my mother returns and puts you to the grill—credentials and all that. Could take hours before she’s satisfied you’ll do.”
“And what makes you think I’ll…do?” Lincoln asked sardonically.
“You could be a beggar for all I care. Meli likes you—that’s the only thing I see that matters.”
Meli likes you. Such simple words to cause such a stir of emotions. She was standing there watching them. She’d schooled her features, was giving away no clue to what she was thinking. He wasn’t so adept at the moment, was flushed, even nervous, which was really very odd, since he was usually quite assured where women were concerned. Perhaps the difference was that none of the others had mattered the least bit to him. But this one did.
She’d caused him a great many unpleasant emotions the last couple weeks. But only because he’d had no access to her. He had access now—if she’d talk to him after he’d “cut her to the quick.” He hadn’t meant to do that, hadn’t thought his departure would affect her, had mistakenly thought she’d already committed herself to someone else.
He nodded to the young man beside him and approached her. She didn’t turn away as he’d done. She waited for him to reach her. She even offered a tentative smile, more encouragement than he deserved at the moment.
“We meet again, Melissa MacGregor.”
Her smile got several degrees brighter, though all she said was “Aye.”
“Is your next dance taken?”
“It was reserved for Justin, no’ tae dance, but tae give me a chance tae catch m’breath. But I’ve done that, mind you, and would be happy tae take tae the floor wi’ you—that is, if you’re asking.”
“I’m asking.”
The last song had ended, and a new waltz was just beginning. Lincoln wasted no time in leading her onto the dance floor, before her chaperon showed up to “grill” him, as the young Justin had put it. He hadn’t counted on the pleasure just being in her presence again would cause him, though, as well as touching her, albeit impersonally. He nearly forgot to begin the dance, merely stood there in the middle of the floor staring at her and causing curious looks from those couples twirling past them.
She remarked, “I was beginning tae think— well, no’ beginning, I was definitely thinking it—that I’d ne’er be seeing you again.”
Her voice broke the trance and got his feet moving. “I was having the same fear, if you must know. When I found out where you were staying, I—”
“You knew and didna pay me a visit?”
“Perhaps you aren’t aware of the consequence of the people you’re staying with? Without a calling card for entry, or an actual invitation from one of them, I couldn’t get through the front door.”
“Och, is that
why? I didna know. We’re no’ so formal in the Highlands.”
Most people weren’t so formal, but then most people didn’t carry the title of a duke either. “I suppose I’ll need to meet your sponsor tonight, to ensure that I can call on you in a proper manner hereafter.”
“Dinna sound so aggrieved.” She grinned. “Megan St. James is a verra nice lady, and verra understanding. And she already knows about you.”
“Does she, now?”
“I recall asking her if she knew you,” she said with a slight blush.
“To which she replied in the negative, of course,” he returned dryly.
“Och, dinna take that personally. She’s no’ a social butterfly herself. The St. Jameses dinna come tae London often. They prefer tae live quietly in the country.”
“Then why is she sponsoring you here this season?” he asked.
“Their Graces have been friends o’ m’parents e’en afore I was born. They had a hand in getting them married actually. And I had few prospects at home, of a matrimonial sort, so Megan suggested I come here tae rectify that.”
“I find it hard to believe you had no prospects at home,” he said.
She blushed again as she attempted to explain. “My family can be a wee bit intimidating.”
Lincoln supposed that was true enough. He might have thought twice about approaching the laird of Clan MacGregor for permission to court his daughter—if he’d known ahead of time that she was his daughter. On second thought, it wouldn’t have made the least bit of difference to him, but he had to allow that it might to others.
“How much competition am I up against?”
He asked it lightly, but he was dreading the answer. She’d had nearly three weeks to meet the cream of London society. He’d tortured himself a few times to stand outside the duke’s residence and watch the stream of men arriving and granted entrance. There to visit young Justin—or Melissa’s suitors? He had naturally assumed the latter, unaware that Their Graces had a son nearing twenty.
The Pursuit Page 6
